


Bend

by Saber_Wing



Series: The Ties That Bind [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Brotherly Love, Drinking, Dwarf Dad is Best Dad, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hangover, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, In which Max is a very sad drunk, M/M, Romance, Trevelyan (Dragon Age) has Sibling(s), Varric Tethras has basically adopted the Trevelyan Brothers, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27806155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: Following Maxwell's gift of a dragon's tooth, split in two, the Iron Bull takes off, without warning.  Max draws his own conclusions.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Iron Bull, The Iron Bull/Trevelyan (Dragon Age)
Series: The Ties That Bind [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1254914
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Bend

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, everyone! Welcome, returning fans, and newcomers! First things first; you don't need any prior knowledge of my series to read this. I promise.
> 
> Also, quick footnote for those of you who have been following it; this story, while the latest installment, takes place before 'Veil.' I have changed the series order to reflect that, but I didn't want anyone to get confused. From here on out, they will be listed in chronological order. 
> 
> Anyway; thank you so much for your interest, kudos, and kind words. They mean a lot. I had a lot of fun writing this one. I hope it's just as fun of a read.
> 
> \- Saber

“Might wanna slow down there, Your Inquisitorialness.”

Maxwell blinked at his dwarven companion. He shrugged, then went back to staring morosely into his tankard, chin on his arms.

Varric nudged his shoulder. “Come on, kid. Cheer up! I’m sure it’s not as bad as your disaster brain is making it out to be.”

“ _’Cheer_ _up_ ,’” Maxwell muttered. He pushed himself clumsily into an upright position, jostling the tankards on the tabletop. “ _’Cheer_ _up_ ,’ he says. Thanks, Varric! I hadn’t thought of that. You truly are the genius Thedas does not deserve.”

Varric grimaced, raising both palms in a placating gesture. “All right, awful wording. I deserved that.”

“I jus’…” Truth be told, Max probably _had_ indulged a little too much. The world seemed at once both sharp, and slipperier than ever. “I jus’ don’ know why I’m so hard to love. That’s all.”

“I never thought I’d find a moodier drunk than Hawke, but I think you’ve got him beat. Geez,” Varric lamented, with a wince. He grunted when Max dropped his head hard onto his shoulder. “Hey. It’s gonna be okay.”

Max groaned. “ _Is_ it?”

Varric nudged Max off his arm. He whined a bit at that—until the dwarf slipped it around his shoulders, instead. “Trust me. I know these things. And there’s more than one way to interpret what you just told me.”

“How else am I supposed to interpret my partner saying the equivalent of a qunari ‘I love you,’ then taking off to Maker-knows-where without a _word?”_

Varric hummed, making all the right affirmative noises, as Max launched into his story—for the fourth time, but who was counting?

“He just _left,_ Varric! No word, no note. I wasn’t even _dressed!_ I didn’t even have my smallclothes. He _took_ me, waited ‘til I fell asleep, then… _left.”_

Varric rubbed his back. “I know, buddy.”

Max sat up straight, slamming his arms down on the table. It jostled their tankards again. This time, hard enough to spill ale over the rims.

“It’d be one thing if he jus’ left my quarters. He doesn’t have to stick around for us to wake up together, or some other such romantic bullshit. But he left _Skyhold._ Took the Chargers on a job. It's been a _week._ I had to find out from _Krem._ He left Krem here, and then he _fucked_ off, and didn’ tell _me!”_

Tobias, back from a trip to the privy, returned to his place on Max’s other side. He sighed, sharing a look with Varric over the top of Max’s head.

‘An’, an’ I just gave him a dragon’s tooth. I killed a _dragon_ an’…an’ everything.”

“Yes, dear.” Tobias took over the profoundly serious duty of rubbing Max’s back. “I know. I was there.”

Max took another, rather sloppy mouthful of ale. “’m probably over…over-re…over…” He scrunched up his brow. “Over-act…”

“Overreacting,” Tobias helpfully supplied.

“Yes, that!” Max slammed his palm on the table, slumping down until his chin rested on it. He face-planted into it, suddenly quite sure his head was too heavy to hold up. “But…But…”

“You’ve had quite enough.” Tobias inched Max’s tankard away from him, pushing it over to the other side of the table. Max flailed both arms half-heartedly after it, without raising his head. “I haven’t seen you this drunk since your coming of age celebration. We are not seventeen anymore, Maxwell. There are healthier ways to cope.”

Max whined into the hardwood, voice partially muffled. “You never le’ me have any fun!”

Varric cupped his chin. Coaxed his head up. “All right, before you go throwing yourself on your sword – “

“I don’ even _have_ a sword—"

“—I have a theory.”

Max crossed his arms. He harrumphed.

“You think him leaving right after means he regrets saying it.”

Max nodded meekly, lower lip jutting out in a pout.

“But—correct me if I’m wrong—you also claim he never lies. Since he _told_ you he was a spy at your very first meeting, chances are, that claim is probably true. There’s just too much evidence built up to suggest otherwise.”

Max shrugged noncommittally, burrowing deeper into Toby’s side.

“I mean, he responded to your come-ons by meeting you up here in your room to proposition you. You messed around, discussed safe-words, and whether or not it’s okay for him to use whips, blindfolds, scarves, and whatever else—”

Tobias held up a palm, grimacing. “ _Please—”_

“—you use. He does all of that. And it works. He literally fucked his way into your heart.”

“It sounds so dirty when you say it like that,” Max muttered, his voice small. 

“And at first, that’s probably all he expected. The two of you would mess around, have some fun. You get somewhere you can relax; with someone you trust. He gets to do the dirty with the most powerful man in Thedas. Everybody wins. What’s not to love?”

Tobias, disgruntled. “Maker’s _tears_ —"

“Then one day, he wakes up and realizes that’s…not what it is. It’s more. _You’re_ more. For somebody like Tiny, who’s only ever had casual sex, that’s…a tall order. Goes against everything he knew and grew up with.”

Max stayed huddled against Tobias. He stared at a knot in the wood, silent. Absorbing.

“I bet he’s out there right now, killing shit to avoid thinking about you. He’s got cold feet, that’s all. He'll work through it the way he always does—with the pointy end of an axe in somebody’s innards. Then, he'll be back. Probably ready to grovel.”

“I looked into his…his eye, and he…” Max swallowed hard. “He called me ‘ _Kadan.’_ That means ’m his heart. He said so. You don’ jus’… _say_ something like that without…” Max sniffled, eyes welling up with tears. “He _knows_ what that would do to me. He knows…” He took a big, gulping breath. It hitched at the end. Caught on a sob.

Tobias hushed him, petting his hair. “All right, bedtime. Come on, up you get.”

Max monkeyed onto Tobias with both arms and legs. So, he was a sad, touchy drunk. Who knew? “I don’ wanna go to bed. ‘m the Inquis’tor. You can’ tell me what t’ do.”

“We’ll revisit that when you can _say_ Inquisitor.” Tobias hefted Max’s weight with apparent ease. “Sleep. You’ll feel dreadful in the morning, but at least you will have gotten this out of your system.”

Varric watched on, half amused, and half concerned. “Need any help?”

“I’ve got him. He’ll nod off before long, anyway.”

Maxwell face-planted onto the mattress when Tobias set him down. “You’re still _talkin’_ ‘bout me as if ‘m not _here!_ Why does ev’rybody do that?”

Tobias drew the covers over Max, turning him onto his side. “If you throw up, do it _that_ way. I will not be the one who has to explain to the armies of the faithful that their Lord and Savior drowned in his own vomit _.”_

Maxwell flailed an arm in Toby’s direction. “Fuck you.”

“I love you, too.”

* * *

“Good _morning!”_

Tobias –the sodding _shit—_ pulled the drapes open, flooding the room with sunlight. It pierced through Max's closed eyelids, splitting his skull in two _._ He’d had _concussions_ that hurt less.

“No,” Max groaned, burying his head under the pillows. “I am the night.”

“How _are_ we feeling today?” Tobias perched on the edge of the mattress. Max didn’t have to see his face to hear the smirk plastered all over it. “Hmm?”

“I regret my entire existence.”

Tobias chuckled. “If only someone had predicted this and tried to warn you.”

Max reached blindly above his head, snatching one of the pillows and tossing it in his brother’s general direction. It made contact—if the noise, and muffled, amused intake of breath was any indication.

“Please, for the love of all that is holy, tell me I have nothing to do today.”

Tobias pulled the pillows, and the covers from his head. Max whined, shielding his face with both arms. “You do not. You at least had the foresight to clear your schedule before your bender last night.”

“Thank the _Maker.”_

Toby was messing with something—there was a clinking at the side table next to his head. Each little _tap, tap, tap_ felt like an icepick, jammed further into his eye socket. “You’re so _loud.”_

Max allowed himself to be coaxed into a sitting position, shielding his eyes with one hand. He took the glass his brother offered. “Drink. Get any more dehydrated, and no one will even have to dry you out for the embalming process after your untimely demise.”

“We’re _Marchers,_ you idiot. They’ll cremate me, anyway.”

Tobias laughed, unabashed.

Max sipped at the water in his glass, grimacing at the sour taste in his mouth. “It’s not _funny_.”

“It’s a little funny.”

Max peeked out from under his hand, just long enough to glare morosely at his brother, who was favoring him with a smile he wanted to punch off his face. Irritatingly bright eyed, bushy tailed, and _awake._

Toby fought down another smile—poorly disguised, since Maxwell noticed it at all—and took the glass back from him. “What have we learned?”

“That there’s a reason I haven’t been hung over since my seventeenth nameday.”

“Good enough.”

Max slumped back down into his coverlets to hide, throwing the edge of one blanket over his face. He left one eye exposed—all the better to glare at Tobias with. “I’m _such_ an idiot.”

“No, you’re not.” Tobias rubbed Max’s temple with a thumb. He leaned into it gratefully. “You’ve been under a lot of pressure. Perhaps next time you'll find a better way to process that. Hmm?”

Max grunted.

For a time or two, they were silent. Tobias continually rubbing soothing circles into his aching head. Max didn’t deserve him.

“A little birdie told me The Iron Bull and his compatriots returned an hour ago,” Tobias eventually murmured, carefully.

Max sank further into the mattress. “Good for them.”

“Maxwell…” Tobias began, with a note of admonishment.

He sighed. “I know, I know.”

“Just keep an open mind. Give him a chance to explain. That’s all I’m saying.”

Max hummed noncommittally, contemplating a rebuttal for a moment or two. In the end, he decided it wasn’t worth the energy.

Tobias eventually left him to his own devices. Max drifted, miserable. His stomach felt sour, uneasy. Just on the edge of nausea. He knew he should eat something and was equally sure it would come right back up.

He felt the vibration of footsteps before he heard them—heavy, weighted footfalls echoing on the stone. He recognized the Bull’s gait, and blinked one eye open, peeking out from under his blankets just in time to see a familiar set of horns bobbing into view.

Max watched his approach. Knew there was no point in pretending to be asleep, even if he’d wanted to keep up the charade.

“Hey,” The Iron Bull murmured. That strong, low baritone, pitched softer than usual—quieter than Max expected. Clearly, somebody had told him what to expect when he went to look for Max, wallowing in his own shame.

“Hi,” Max grated back, voice rough with disuse. He coughed to clear his throat, wincing when it made his throbbing head roar with protest.

Bull moved closer. He’d removed his heavy plate armor, changing back into a normal pair of trousers and boots, and Max was grateful for that. If he had to hear the metal _scrape, scrape, scraping_ together, he probably _would_ throw up.

He stopped, perching next to Max’s head. “Stitches whipped this up for you.” He held up a vial, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Best damned hangover cure this side of The Waking Sea.”

Max scoffed. “Can't make me feel much _worse_.” He fumbled a hand down on the mattress, pushed himself up. The blood rushed to his head, and he swayed. Bull grasped his shoulder, steadying him.

Max blinked at him. Slowly, he took the vial from his outstretched hand, contemplating it dubiously. “Is this going to _make_ me throw up, or make it so I don’t?”

The Iron Bull chuckled, although, there was something off about it. A hint of unease that Max wasn’t used to seeing. “Probably both. It’ll do wonders for the headache, though.”

Max blinked at it tiredly for a moment or two. Then, he shrugged, plucking the stopper out and tossing it back in one smooth motion. He managed to choke it down, clamping a hand over his mouth when it threatened to come back up. He squeezed his eyes shut, waving away the chamber pot Bull held under his nose, once he was sure he wouldn’t need it.

“Maker, that’s putrid.” He leaned his head back against the headboard, shielding his eyes from the sunlight still filtering into the room.

When Max felt ready to face it again, he blinked one eye open. ~~~~

Bull was looking at him, with the strangest expression—a mixture of amusement, guilt, and a hint of concern. He cleared his throat. Held Max’s eyes.

“Sorry I left like that. It was a dick move.”

Max stared. His walls were down. His defenses, shattered. Last night had taken whatever shred of defiance he’d had left. Any lingering anger. He gazed back at Bull, tired. Hurt.

“Why did you go?” he asked, flat. Desperate. “I need to understand.”

Bull growled; low, frustrated, not directed at Max. “Look. I don’t… _do_ this. Commitment. Tying myself down.”

Max looked down at his lap; took a breath. Gathered his strength up for one last ditch effort. He was not going to break. He was not going to _cry…_

Bull tilted his chin up with one gentle finger. Forced Max to meet his gaze. His lover’s eyes were at once hard and soft. Determined. “I _want_ to be tied to you.”

"Say it." Max blinked back tears. “I need to hear it.”

“Kadan. It means friend, brother, lover, heart, mind. It can mean anything. Everything.” Bull slid his hand up Max’s face. Cupped his cheek. “You. I'm in this for the long haul. I'm not goin' anywhere.”

Max placed his own hand over Bull’s. Leaned into his touch. He squeezed his eyes shut. Took a shuddering breath.

“I don’t know how to do this, Boss. Qunari don’t…we _don’t.”_

Max gave him a watery smile. “I’m no wiser than you, Bull. I’m scared, too.”

“But you know who’s never backed down from a challenge? Iron _fucking_ Bull. I’m gonna figure this out.”

 _“We_ will _.”_

Bull hummed, gathered him close. Max let him; rested his cheek against his broad chest. He hid his face against it. Let it soothe his aching head. “Bull?”

“Hmm?” his lover answered, running his fingers up and down Max's bare back.

“If I ever want to drink my problems away again…talk me out of it. Or at least remind me not to mix my liquors.”

The Iron Bull chuckled. “You got it, babe.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just felt like Bull might have had more reservations than we saw, or that he let on. I wanted to explore it. I mean, he's REALLY breaking with culture, here.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed! <3


End file.
